


Objects In the Rear View Mirror

by ifishouldvanish



Series: I Must Be Warmer Now [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: A little bit of fluff, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Panic Attacks, fluff is good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 03:19:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10733064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifishouldvanish/pseuds/ifishouldvanish
Summary: When Gold notices that Lacey’s stopped listening to her Queen single, he wonders if he should be concerned.





	Objects In the Rear View Mirror

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BarPurple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/gifts).



> This story is part of a series based on my RSS 2016 fic, [I Must Be Warmer Now](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8920411/chapters/20432710). You might want to read that first :)
> 
>   _[@barpurple](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple) said: Could I make a request for the wonderful and amazing I Must Be Warmer Now verse? Gold gets worried about Lacey when her Queen album is put away and she starts listening to Meatloaf Bat Out of Hell II on repeat. The reason behind this change is your choice._
> 
> I'm not sure if this is anything like what you had in mind, but it's what I got :P

Gold wipes his feet as he steps into Lacey's apartment, grocery bags in tow, and smiles to himself. The first time she'd noticed him wiping his feet, she laughed and told him not to bother because she knows she's a slob and that her place is a pigsty. He continued to do it anyway of course— but over past few months, he has to admit that the place is looking a lot cleaner. For one thing, the pile of stilettos in the entryway is no more. Well—actually, it's just relocated to her bedroom, but he's willing to consider it progress.

He hitches into the kitchenette to set the bags down and starts taking out the ingredients for the baked lemon chicken they’ll be preparing together tonight. It’s a win-win, cooking together. He loves having somebody to cook for, it gets Lacey eating something other than Coco Pops, ramen, and pizza, and it gives them both an excuse to spend more time together. Lacey also takes her role as _official taste tester_ very seriously, much to his delight. It feels so rewarding to have his work in the kitchen appreciated.

Milah would always inhale her dinner without a word and immediately disappear out to the back patio to talk on the phone. Some would say a meal devoured in silence was the greatest compliment a cook could receive, but it certainly never felt like one. And Bae, of course, was still just a boy. He couldn’t fault him for not displaying his best manners at home— besides, his jubilant, _“Yes! Chicken pot pie!”_ as he barrelled down the stairs was always more than enough. But Lacey— she loves to watch him work and always offers to help— be it chopping vegetables, keeping an eye on some pasta as it cooked, or just giving him a peck on the cheek and commenting on how delicious everything looked.

Gold's rummaging through the cupboards for the baking sheet he likes when he realizes Lacey hasn't come over to give him a kiss yet. _Odd._

“...Lacey?” He wanders deeper into the apartment and pokes his head into the bedroom, steam rising out of the master bath. _Ah._ The shower is running. He steps up to the threshold and gives a light knock. “Lacey?”

“Oh, hey!” Her voice comes muffled from behind the curtain. “Shower— be out in a minute!”

“Take your time.” He says. He's pretty sure it was too quiet for her to hear, but he feels too foolish to repeat himself at all, let alone louder, so he walks back out to the den without another word.

The little skulls scattered about every surface and every corner are like familiar friends to him now. Gold smiles at the row of tiny succulents she added to the window sill last week, potted in wee little skull-shaped planters. To think of Lacey caring for something _living,_ as low-maintenance as they may be, gives him a pleasant feeling in his chest. His eyes drift over to the record player, and he has to blink a few times to make sure he’s seeing things correctly.

He frowns at the record on the turntable. _Bat Out of Hell II._ A quick look at the crates on the floor below reveals the record's sleeve— a rather frightening image of… well, he's not quite sure _what_ he's looking at, honestly. He squats down and plucks it from the crate for a closer look, and is able to make out the image of a figure riding a motorcycle? Soaring straight into a… demon? _Some_ kind of winged beast— perched atop a skyscraper like bloody King Kong, looming over a desolate dystopian landscape consumed by red hot flames.

His curiosity getting the better of him, he flips it over to read the track listing on the back.

The title of the first song makes his heart sink— _I’d Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)._ The idea that Lacey might identify with such a sentiment makes him feel uneasy. What might ‘that’ be? He's all too familiar with not being chosen. All too familiar with not being worth anyone's while. What if Lacey feels the same way? Where might she draw the line and ditch him, like everyone else inevitably does?

He scolds himself. They haven't used— well, _that_ particular word with each other yet. _Love._ It's too soon for that. Isn’t it? What right has he to feel so threatened? _Christ,_ it's just the name of a song on an album she happens to be listening to, he thinks. _Stop getting ahead of yourself._ He shakes his head and skims through the rest of the titles.

_Life Is A Lemon And I Want My Money Back. Wasted Youth. Back Into Hell._

Now, he knows perfectly well that Lacey's endured a less than stellar past, but he likes to think that he makes her life better— even if just a little. She certainly makes _his_ better. Was something wrong? Why would she be listening to such… angry, bitter music? What happened to her uplifting Queen single?

Gold sighs and peers inside the sleeve for the lyric sheet, relieved to find it still in tact. Sneaking a furtive glance toward the bathroom, he slides it out and scans over the finely printed verses. His eyes gravitate toward one in particular, and his mouth goes dry.

_And my father's eyes were blank as he hit me again and again and again._

He sucks in a breath and clenches his eyes shut. Just like that, his pulse is thumping in that old, familiar way. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his pounding heart before peeking his eyes open again.

_I'll hear that ugly coarse and violent voice_

_And then he grabs me from behind and then he pulls me back!_

“Stop!” He cries out, dropping the sleeve onto the floor where it lands with a _smack_ , the lyric sheet slowly floating down with it. “N-no!”

“You uh… alright there, Gold?”

He stares at his feet, rubbing his sweating palms against his slacks, and flinches when he feels a hand rest on his shoulder. “I'm sorry, da!” He yelps, drawing his arms up to shield his face.

Lacey jumps back, almost losing the towel wrapped around her chest as she holds her hands up in surrender. “Sorry! I'm Sorry. That was bad—”

Gold wraps his arms tightly around himself, his eyes fixed on the turntable as his breaths grow faster, out of control.

“Gold? …Are you okay? You— you have to slow down, you gotta breathe.”

He can hear her voice, but his racing mind can't focus on it. It's flooded with impressions of his father's flat in Glasgow. The smell of the mill that would come home with him, the glimpse of blood on the walls, the sound of him yelling, the taste of dirt, and the unceasing weight of fear.

Lacey steps in front of him slowly, blocking his view of the turntable, and looks into his eyes. He's looking at her, and yet he's not— he feels like he's looking _through_ her, like she's an apparition and not really there.

“Shh, shh… it's fine. It’s just me, baby…” She tentatively reaches a hand out for one of his, and he lets her take it. He squeezes tightly enough that he’s probably hurting her, which is the last thing he wants to do. For all the spinning his mind is doing, he can focus on that much. “It’s okay. He's not here…” She continues. “Just— Just try to count with me? Can you do that?”

He nods slightly, though his eyes are still distant and unfocused.

“Breathe in— one, two, three… And out— one, two three. In—” she takes a deep breath to demonstrate and slowly exhales. “Now four. In— one, two, three, four. And out— one, two, three, four.” She keeps increasing the count but his breathing never seems to be slow enough. It’s still slowing a little bit though, so he keeps trying, keeps listening.

She's up to ten when he finally catches his breath and he swallows. “L-Lacey… Lacey?”

“Mhmm...” She nods, giving his hand a squeeze. He slowly forces himself to ease his grip, and she gives him another encouraging smile. “That's right… It's just me, baby.”

He nods again and she pulls him close, letting him bury his face in her shoulder.

“There… you're okay.” She says, stroking his back comfortingly.

“I'm— I'm okay.” He chokes out. She's being so patient and understanding, and she's so warm and soft around him. He feels the overwhelming urge to cry, but it goes as quickly as it came, and he takes a step back.

“Why don't you uh, sit down?" She offers. "I'll get you some water maybe? Or… _whiskey?”_

“...Water.” He whispers, staggering backwards and onto the couch.

 

*****

 

“Feeling better?” Lacey asks. “You kinda looked like you saw a ghost there.”

He swills down what’s left of his water and sets the glass on the coffee table with a heavy thud. “I suppose, in a way, I did.”

She pouts her lips and rests her head on his shoulder, sliding a hand across his lap to twine their fingers. “Your father?”

He swallows hard and she sees the corner of his mouth twitch a little. “Aye.”

She rubs her thumb over the back of his hand, and presses a kiss to his shoulder. “I'm sorry.”

“S’not your fault.”

“I know… I just—” she shrugs. “It sucks, doesn't it?”

He stares ahead blankly and doesn’t say anything, so she continues.

“Used to happen to me a lot. ...Kind of why I started getting blackout drunk, after um… well, you know. They’re not as bad anymore, though.” She assures.

Gold nods, and she can see the way his jaw clenches. It’s the same way it always clenches whenever she shares another detail with him about her relationship with Gaston.

“You stopped listening to Freddie.” He says in a terse voice, and Lacey can recognize a plea to change the subject when she hears one.

She clears her throat. “Yeah. I uh— I've been in the mood for something else lately.”

“Is something wrong?” He asks, and there’s so much concern in his voice that she almost feels guilty. “You.. you love Freddie.”

“No.” She answers a little too quickly, defensively. “...And I love lots of stuff.” She says. _Like you, maybe._

That's what started it all. On her days off, she would spin through a dozen records or more— but at the end of the day, her copy of _The Show Must Go On_ was always restored to its rightful place on the turntable. The other day however, she couldn't bring herself to stop listening to love songs, lying on the floor with her eyes closed and thinking about _him._ God, she felt like a teenager.

Gold looks at the record sleeve on the floor and presses his lips into a thin line for a moment. “Maybe we could listen to it? Together?”

 _Listen to it?_ She just watched him get a panic attack just from _looking_ at it. “I don't think you'd like Meat Loaf, baby.” She says. Over the past few months, she's come to find that he enjoys her blues, folk, and pop records to her power rock and heavy metal— Not that it surprises her in the slightest.

“Oh.” He sighs and he looks so genuinely disappointed. “...why not?”

Mostly, she's just a little embarrassed. Not by the music itself, but what it might reveal to him. Her _feelings._ They’re hard to reconcile with the past several years she spent trying not to give a shit about anything or anyone. “I dunno. It's just kind of… over the top?”

“I've found most of the things you listen to are, sweetheart.” He insists with a lopsided little grin.

Lacey chuckles at that. She still loves it when he calls her sweetheart and she loves the fact that he never belittles her for her taste, no matter how much he may not like it. “Alright. But don't say I didn't warn you. It's… something else, and a little corny at times.”

 _“Corny?”_ He hikes his browse, seeming caught by surprise.

“Well, it's… kind of a rock opera? It… tells a story.” She explains, giggling at his baffled expression. “...You'll see.”

“I'm sure I will.” He smiles and his eyes flit across her features in a way that she's pretty sure is making her blush. _How does he even do that?_

“...Okay.” She pats his chest gives him a quick kiss before getting up and firing up the turntable.

 

*****

 

Whatever he's hearing, it's certainly not what he was expecting. A galloping and uplifting piano melody layered over a squealing guitar part that sounds almost… triumphant? They fade away, making way for the opening verse, and Gold realizes it's not a song about putting love second at all. It's a declaration of love. A celebration of it.

 _And I would do anything for love_  
_I'd run right into hell and back_  
_I would do anything for love_  
_I'll never lie to you and that's a fact_  
  
_But I'll never forget the way you feel right now_  
_I would anything for love  
But I won't do that_

The piano and guitar return with all their symphonic glory as the next verse begins and builds into a booming chorus that he can feel in his chest with each pulse of the bass drum.

Gold looks down where Lacey's head rests against his chest, and smiles to himself. Settling more comfortably in the couch, he starts idly combing his fingers through her hair.  Her nose wrinkles and she looks up at him.

“Cheesy, right?”

He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “No. It's lovely.”

They sit through song after song about bright-burning, all-consuming love, being the answer to one another's prayers, making each other feel alive. He presses a kiss to the top of Lacey's head and she shifts and tightens her arms around him.

Before long, the song with the lyrics that frightened him earlier is playing. But this time, the account of the terrifying father grabbing the protagonist from behind doesn't bother him. Malcolm's ghost is trapped in that flat in Glasgow, thousands of miles away and decades behind him. He seeks Lacey's hand while the chorus rings over and over as the song ends.

 _If life is just a highway, then the soul is just a car  
_ _Objects in the rear view mirror may appear closer than they are_

The next song isn’t much of a song at all, but rather a dramatic voiceover— It’s indeed very over the top and kind of corny. He smiles down at Lacey, who looks up at him with knowing eyes and a shameless grin.

“Let’s get dinner started, aye?”

She stretches up to peck him on the lips. “Let’s.”


End file.
